“Don’t make the man have to carry you, Isobel,” Dirk said in a tone that brooked no argument. “I’ve had far worse injuries than this.”
She huffed, her eyes glistening with tears, then proceeded back toward the boulder with Seona.
Keegan followed. “He will be well, I’m certain.”
“But he could get infection and fever,” she said, trying to suppress her sobs.
Behind them, Dirk growled and Isobel turned to run back toward him. Keegan caught her arm and ushered her once again toward Seona. “Removing the arrow will be painful, no doubt,” Keegan said. He’d never been shot with an arrow so couldn’t say from experience, but it had to hurt something awful. He glanced back to see Dirk lying on the rocky ground and Rebbie knelt over him, working on his leg. The two had fought battles on the continent together and had been treating each other’s wounds for years.
“I want to kill Haldane and his damnable archer,” Isobel muttered, striding forward, a glower on her face.
“As do I,” Keegan said.
Isobel and Seona sat together on one of the rocks beside the wide-eyed and pale Lady Patience, while Keegan and the other guards kept watch for returning outlaws. Several men stood around Dirk, mostly blocking Isobel’s view of his bloody leg. He could certainly understand Dirk’s need to keep her shielded from most of it, although she had never seemed squeamish to him.
He was glad to see she took some comfort from having Seona by her side as she watched the proceedings from a distance. Seona was also a bit pale. Her worried gaze met his.
“He will recover quickly,” Keegan said. How could he not? He was one of the strongest and most resilient men Keegan knew.
“Aye, he will,” Seona said, putting an arm around Isobel’s shoulders and comforting her. “All will be well.”
A quarter hour later, Dirk’s calf was bound in linen cloths, most likely someone’s clean shirt that had been ripped up, and most of the bleeding had stopped. Rebbie had poured whisky on it along with some powdered healing herbs he carried with him. Dirk pushed himself to his feet, though his face was ashen.
Isobel ran to him and slipped an arm around his waist. “Lean on me. Don’t put any weight on your right leg.”
“Don’t fash yourself. I am well.” He limped forward, gritting his teeth.
“You are lying,” Isobel accused.
“Naught a wee dram of whisky won’t cure.”
“You’re in luck. I have some,” Keegan said, digging into one of the packs on his horse.
After Dirk had two generous swigs of whisky, he hoisted himself into the saddle using his uninjured leg. Everyone else followed suit.
Keegan helped Seona mount again and they were on their way.
He divided his attention between Seona, Dirk and the surrounding cliffs. He had to make sure Seona was safe, but at the same time, his concern for Dirk grew. Riding the horse had to be jarring his injured leg and causing severe pain. His skin remained pale and his jaw clenched. He couldn’t drink enough whisky to kill the pain and stay in the saddle at the same time.
Isobel was right to worry about the infection and fever. ’Twould be the worst part to get through.
***
After riding a couple of hours, they reached Ullapool, a wee village on the bay of Loch Broom.
“Is there an inn here?” Keegan asked.
“Nay.” Dirk was sweating and pale when he dismounted, which concerned Keegan a great deal. And ’twas clear he was holding his breath half the time. “One of Isobel’s distant cousins, Linden MacKenzie, owns that manor house, there.” Dirk pointed at a thatched-roof, whitewashed structure, much larger than a cottage, yet not as large as a castle. “He has a shipping business, transporting goods from the ports down south out to the islands.”
“You need to lie down, cousin,” Keegan told him.
“Aye. And a half-pint of whisky wouldn’t hurt either.”
Keegan sent one of the guards to purchase more whisky while Dirk, Isobel, Rebbie and a few of the others went to speak to her cousin about their party staying the night.
Rebbie returned, reporting that Isobel’s cousin had welcomed them to stay and had four empty rooms with beds for their use.
The women disappeared inside the manor house, as did Dirk and Rebbie. MacMillan carried Lady Patience inside because of her wrenched ankle.
Keegan and most of the other men waited outside, on the lookout for Haldane or any of his party who might have followed. Since Keegan didn’t know the new men Haldane had enlisted, ’twas even harder to spot the knaves. He simply didn’t allow anyone near the house. The five-foot stone wall around it might deter petty thieves, but it was too low to provide much defense. The wooden gate was sturdy but open. Hopefully, it would be locked at night. If someone wanted to attack, ’twould be too easy to take over the house. Their guards would have to take shifts tonight, securing the perimeter.
The door of the manor house opened. MacMillan exited and approached him, a frown contorting his dark brows. “Lady Isobel wishes to see you inside.”
Saints. Was Dirk worse?
“You and the other guards need to secure the perimeter of the house,” Keegan said.
“Aye, we’ll be on the lookout for the bastards.”
Keegan strode toward the entry, and a servant opened the door.
Isobel awaited him, just inside. She was pale, her brown eyes too large. “Dirk wishes to speak with you upstairs.”
“Very well.” Cold dread weighed heavily in Keegan’s chest. “Is something wrong?”
“Nay. He is the same but wanted to talk to you.”
She walked with him up the straight stone staircase, opened the door to the bedchamber, then left.
Keegan entered the room, lit by the late evening sunrays that sliced through the clouds, to find Dirk reclining in a large bed, his leg propped on pillows and several more behind his back.
“How are you feeling?” Keegan asked, moving forward.
“Like my leg is shot full of holes. ’Tis hard to believe there is only one through it.” Dirk took a sip of whisky from a small goblet. “Have a seat.” He motioned to a straight wooden chair by the bed, then poured Keegan a dram of whisky in another goblet.
“I thank you.” Keegan sipped the fiery liquid. “I’m certain you’ll be back to your old self in a few days.”
“Aye. ’Tis not the first time I’ve been shot with an arrow. I took one in the shoulder early last fall in Perth.”
Keegan dropped into the chair by the bed, relaxing a bit since Dirk wasn’t as bad as he’d feared.
“I want to thank you for protecting Isobel during the skirmish,” Dirk said. “She means more to me than my own life.”
The sincerity in Dirk’s pale blue eyes, as well as the obvious and profound love he held for his wife, stalled out any words Keegan might say in response. He gave a brief nod.
“If anything happens to me, promise me that you will protect her,” Dirk said, his eyes fiercely intense.
“Och.” With the sound, Keegan released some of the pressure in his chest. “Naught is going to happen to you, cousin!”
“If it does. Promise me.” Dirk’s gaze remained piercing.
“Aye, of course. You ken I would protect both you and Isobel with mine own life.”
“I thank you. That means more than I can say.” He relaxed back a bit.
“I’m certain you will be well in a matter of days. As you said, you’ve been injured many times before.”
Dirk nodded and sipped the whisky again. “Haldane is a menace. I had no inkling he would come back with such a vengeance this spring. I thought… hoped… he’d escaped to the Lowlands where he’d stop his outlaw ways and start a new life. But I doubt he will ever change. He has too much of his devious mother in him.”
“Aye, that he does.”
Dirk inhaled a deep breath and let it out slow. “You’re not only my cousin, but also a good friend, as you’ve been the whole of my life.”
“A
ye,” Keegan said hesitantly, wondering what was on Dirk’s mind now. Had the whisky loosed his tongue?
“I’ve been meaning to speak with you about something,” Dirk said. “I’ve thought long and hard on it. I want you to be my tanist until I have an heir who is of age.”
“What?” Keegan frowned. Why would Dirk name him heir apparent to the chiefdom? “Nay. Aiden is tanist, as he should be. He’s your brother.”
Dirk shook his head. “He doesn’t want the position. If something should happen to me before I sire an heir, Aiden might be baron but he could never lead the clan. You saw the kind of chief he was before I came back. He’s not a leader. He’s a minstrel and a piper, a very talented one. He’s more than happy to simply play music. He told me you would make a better tanist, and I agree.”
Shocked to the core, Keegan swallowed hard. This was something he’d never expected. “Well…I thank you. I’m honored you chose me. I’d be more than happy to fill the role, until you have a son, although I’m your cousin, not your brother.”
“You’re like a brother to me,” Dirk assured him.
“And you’re like a brother to me as well.” Even though Keegan had three younger brothers, he actually felt closer to Dirk. Maybe because the two of them were alike in many ways and near the same age.
“You’re a fearsome warrior. A strong leader,” Dirk said. “You’ve been head of the guards for a long while now.”
“Aye.” Four years, in fact.
“You ken what is expected of a chief. You watched my father lead the clan for years, even while I was away.”
Keegan nodded. “He was a great chief, as you are.”
“I can only aspire to be as good a leader as he was,” Dirk said. “Anyway, I want the clan and Isobel to be safe and protected should Haldane or his men hit their mark next time.”
Chapter Ten
Keegan left Dirk’s chamber feeling gloomy and disturbed, despite being named tanist. Of course, ’twas a great honor and a high position within the clan, just beneath the chief, and he was grateful for it. But he would never wish for anything bad to happen to Dirk.
Keegan met Isobel in the narrow corridor, carrying a tray of food. Her face was still pale and concerned.
He paused. “I hope you’ll pardon me for asking, Lady Isobel, but I need to see Lady Seona for a few minutes. Could you ask her to meet me here without her aunt knowing?”
“Aye. Just a moment.” Isobel took the tray into Dirk’s chamber, then returned.
“’Tis not for frivolous purposes,” Keegan said. “I’m teaching her how to use a blade to defend herself. I don’t want her aunt to know. She wouldn’t approve.”
“Aye. ’Tis very kind of you, Keegan. There’s a private parlor at the end of this corridor you can use for practice if you wish.” She motioned toward a distant closed door. “Also, the cooks prepared food and left it in the dining room below for everyone—you and all the men.”
“I thank you. I’ll let them know.”
She proceeded to one of the other bedchambers. A couple of minutes later, Seona and Isobel moved along the corridor, whispering. Seona looked beautiful, but he knew she had to be exhausted after all the travel.
“I thank you.” Keegan bowed when they paused before him.
“I’m glad to help.” Isobel went into the chamber with Dirk and closed the door.
Seona glanced back at the door leading to the room where her aunt remained, unable to believe she would have some precious time alone with Keegan. She faced him again, taking in his serious expression in the dim light of gloaming. She knew he was concerned about Dirk.
“I had hoped to teach you more about defending yourself,” Keegan whispered. “Things have turned dangerous. Our chief is injured, and it near kills me to imagine you attacked or captured and unable to fight off the outlaws.”
Seona nodded, a cold shiver traveling through her when she imagined Haldane kidnapping her. “I thank you for the help. Aunt Patience is asleep, so we have some time.”
“I hadn’t considered… we’ve been traveling a long time. You may be too tired.”
“Nay.” No matter how tired she was, she’d rather spend time with Keegan than sleep. Besides, being near him suffused her with giddy energy.
“Isobel said there’s a parlor at the end of the corridor we can use.” He motioned.
“Very well.” She proceeded in the direction he’d indicated and he followed.
Once they were inside, he closed the door.
A bright fire burned in the hearth, and Keegan lit a few more thick candles. ’Twas a beautiful room with several chairs and settees here and there in groupings. A fine Turkish carpet lay in the center of the polished wood floor.
“How is Chief Dirk feeling?” she asked.
“He’s in pain.” Keegan frowned. “I pray he recovers.”
“As do I.” She could not imagine the level of intense fear and worry Isobel must feel right now. She and Dirk had only been married six months. They were near inseparable and so in love.
“He has always been like a brother to me instead of a cousin,” Keegan said.
“I can tell. The two of you are close.” And she admired this about them. She was also close to her cousins, Genevieve and Malcolm.
Keegan stood at the fireplace, staring into the flames for a long moment. A casual observer would think he was relaxing; yet, to Seona he seemed profoundly tense, as if his thoughts were in turmoil.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He faced her, a troubled frown upon his handsome face. “I’ll tell you something if you promise not to tell anyone as of yet. It hasn’t been announced.”
“Of course.” Praying his news wasn’t bad, she moved forward to stand beside him in front of the hearth. The fire warmed her as did Keegan’s close presence.
“Dirk has just named me his tanist until he has an heir.” Keegan’s expression remained dark and foreboding.
“In truth? That is a high honor.” She was happy for him, but concerned that he didn’t appear pleased.
“Aye. He realizes Haldane and his band of outlaws could kill him at any moment. That’s why he asked me. He said he’d been considering it for a while, but the injury… the threat to his life made him realize his own mortality.” Keegan shook his head. “That’s what feels like a knife to the gut.” He looked tormented as he stared into the flames. He turned toward her. “Och. Pray pardon, Lady Seona. I should not have said that aloud.”
“Nay. I’m glad you told me,” she said quickly. “I’m glad… you trust me.” It meant more to her than she could express.
“’Tis true. I do trust you, Seona.” In the firelight, his blue eyes were sincere, yet a hint of his natural charm also slipped through, as if he might smile at any moment. But he didn’t.
“God forbid that something should happen to Dirk, but if it did, I know with certainty you would do the clan proud as their chief,” she said.
He bent his head in an abbreviated bow. “I thank you for your confidence.”
She wanted to touch him, to hold him. It meant the world to her that he’d told her about being named tanist before he’d told anyone else. She considered that an honor.
“I wish Da was here so I could tell him,” Keegan said.
“He will be proud when he learns of it.”
Keegan nodded. “Enough about me. I want you to practice the knife-fighting moves I told you about last time.”
“Very well.”
“Did you bring your knife?”
“Aye.”
“Well, I also brought this.” He withdrew a blunt wooden stick shaped like a small sgian dubh from his sporran. “I made it last night to help with our practice.”
“’Tis beautifully carved. Are you afraid I’ll stab you with the real thing?”
A tiny grin quirked his lips. “I don’t want you to hesitate.” He removed his sporran and sword baldric—she presumed because he wanted them out of the way while they practiced. “Have you ev
er stabbed anyone?” he asked.
“Of course not!”
“Well, to do it effectively, you have to put some muscle behind it.”
She would never have the muscle or strength he had. That was a certainty. “Show me.”
“Like I was telling you last time, if you are grabbed from behind, you’ll want to hold your sgian like this.” He held the knife with the fake blade pointing downward. “And when you have the opportunity, stab backward into his body.” Keegan thrust the knife blade behind himself toward an invisible attacker. “Now, you try it.” He handed her the carved wooden stick. “Face away from me so I can see your movements.”
Trying to imagine being in the grips of an outlaw, she drove the fake knife backward into thin air.
“Aye. Good. Now, I’m going to pretend to be an outlaw capturing you.”
Surprised by his words, she glanced around at him. He was going to grab her? Heavens! Her skin heated with anticipation. ’Tis only for practice, she told her wayward body.
He paused. “Are you in agreement?”
“Aye. I need the practice.”
“Don’t hurt me.” He grinned.
She lifted a brow and sent him a saucy look. “’Tis a risk you take if you assume the outlaw role.”
“Indeed.” His smile widened, but he didn’t move.
When she faced the opposite wall again, he stealthily moved in behind her, covered her mouth with one hand and wrapped his other arm around both hers, trapping them. She was so stunned by his body heat, she couldn’t think or act for a moment. When he lifted her into the air in one second and turned with her, she was amazed at his strength.
Forcing her brain to function, she thrust the wooden knife backward toward him. She missed, but tried again. This time, she met resistance.
He grunted, then murmured in her ear, “Try it again. Harder.”
Saints! She didn’t want to hurt him. While it was true the wooden knife wouldn’t cut him, it might leave a bruise.
“Come now, lass. Show me what you’ve got,” he encouraged.
She shoved the fake knife backward again, driving it against what seemed to be his lower abdomen. ’Twas like trying to drive the stick into granite.
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